


Bravery

by orphan_account



Category: Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hobbits, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Weddings, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-04
Updated: 2003-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:15:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	Bravery

Lady Éowyn stood before the mirror mounted on the wall of the chamber, staring into her own eyes, familiar and round, icy blue, in a grim delicate face. Her hair was gathered and arranged carefully around her shoulders, flowing down the bodice of her wedding gown. She placed her hands on her belly and stared at her fingers spread there on the embroidery, white; the callouses and scars hidden on her palms.

Merry Brandybuck glanced up the flight of stairs for the third time since he and Frodo had arrived at the hall below the bridal chambers, waiting to be led to their places. He heard a soft laugh as his cousin's wounded hand closed on his arm. "Go on," Frodo said, smiling. "These big lumbering Men won't notice."

"It wouldn't be proper, cousin, you know that," said Merry, feeling rather big and lumbering himself, for the first time since he'd ventured out into the world of the Big People. His older cousin looked up at him now.

"I saw her face earlier," Frodo retorted. "I think she needs a companion to face this ordeal with!"

"No, I am fine, my gown is fine, my hair is fine, and I will be there on time - now go!"

Merry followed the haughty voice he'd come to know quite well, and chuckled under his breath at the irritation it carried. He thought back to Pippin's sister Pervinca on one of her moods, and found the comparison accurate even in its absurdity. He skipped stealthily nearer, hiding behind the turn of the corridor as a round serving woman bustled out of a parlour, looking decidedly miffed, and despite her size and the fine detail of her clothes Merry's mind flashed once more back to the Shire and the busybody aunts and grandmothers he had learned a long time ago to avoid with all his capacity. The door slammed closed, and the corridor emptied.

Well, Merry thought, can't be worse than the Nazgul. Onwards, brave soldier!

His knock on the door was returned with a "Who is it?" chillier than north wind, and much closer to "knock once more and you will die" in connotation.

"It's me," he called. "Merry!"

There was a moment of silence, and then the door opened. Éowyn stood above him, tall and blinding in all her carefully enhanced glory. Merry took a step back, momentarily intimidated - she seemed like a work of art, a jewel mounted on a crown. That is, until she stomped her foot and crossed her arms. "Stop staring at me, Merry Brandybuck! I have just looked in the mirror and I know I do not have strawberry jam on my nose."

A laugh bubbled out of Merry's throat, and then he bowed deep before her. "I am in your service, lady, and apologise sincerely for whatever distress I may have caused!"

Éowyn sighed, and then glanced quickly in the corridor before pulling Merry into the room. As soon as the door was closed behind them, she leaned down to lay her hands on Merry's shoulders and stare into his eyes anxiously. "Remember the night before Pelennor?" she asked.

"Yes," Merry replied. "You were very brave," he added after a moment's consideration.

"And every soldier was handed a small flask of cheap wine - for their last luxury."

"I remember that, too," Merry said. "You gave me yours."

She nodded. "And you got tipsy and proclaimed you were going to kill at least a hundred and fifty orcs in the battle to come."

"Unfortunately, I only ended up with one kill, and even that honour was shared," Merry said apologetically.

"Truly spoken, and what an honour that was - what a heroic deed, worthier than ten thousand orcs. But what I ask of you know, friend... comrade..." Éowyn looked at him pleadingly. "Will you return my favour that night, and get me a flask of temporary courage?"

Merry lay his hands on Éowyn's arms, and squeezed them affectionately. "You are facing your groom, not a Nazgul this time."

"Do not mock what you don't understand," she said with all seriousness. Then she sighed again, and slumped down on an armchair. "Perhaps I should not drink, though; I do not wish to falter on my way to be wed."

Merry pulled a smaller chair up in front of hers and sat, taking her hand in his. "Are you having doubts, then?"

She put her hand over his and squeezed it gratefully. "Am I doing the right thing? Have I chosen well? What if I should not have chosen to marry at all?"

"A life without love certainly would not have been the right choice," Merry said gently. "Not for you."

"But I have love aplenty. I love you, my friend, and I love my brother, and while I love Faramir dearly - a marriage? Did I say yes at a time I should not have? Did I rush?"

Merry thought about this, looking down on his hands twined with hers. They looked so different - his small dark hands, her slender white ones, but underneath, he could feel the callouses, which were the same for both of them - and he remembered the bruises, the shade both their arms had been, all the way to the shoulder, when they were brought broken and shadow-ridden to the gardens, before Strider's soft voice and warm hands had pulled both of them back...

"These hands..." he turned hers over, exposing the network of scars. He stroked his thumbs gently across the palm. "They protected the light." He wasn't sure how to say what he wanted; all the words he could think of seemed clumsy. "They struck down the darkness." He brought her hands up to his lips and kissed them. "It's their reward, now, to grasp other hands instead of a sword, to work and write and bless instead." He looked up at her face, smiling. "And you knew this already. You just needed to hear someone speak it."

Éowyn let out a shivering breath. "Yes."

They stood without saying a word and fell into an embrace, the embroideries of her bodice rough against his cheek, her fingers hard on his shoulder, and his arms soft and strong around her waist.

At last they parted, and smiled at each other. Music had started to play, somewhere below, carrying in through the window on a slight breeze. "Time to go?"

She nodded, still smiling. She was ready.


End file.
